


Pottery and Proposals

by Minoukatze



Category: Vermintide, Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Angst, But mostly fluff, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 07:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17320634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minoukatze/pseuds/Minoukatze
Summary: A little bit of fluff after Homecoming. Victor needs to take a trip, and certain decisions are made.





	1. Chapter 1

“Come,” Victor took her trembling hand and squeezed it. “Let us get back to the inn. I have not eaten, and I’m guessing you haven’t either. It has been a very long day. Let us celebrate its end.”

Walburga allowed herself to be led from the grotesque scene, relief washing over her. While she felt as if a massive weight were lifted from her shoulders, seeing her lifelong tormentors screaming in agony, their flesh bubbling and blackening atop a mountain of flaming refuse only left Walburga feeling nauseated. Considering what they had unleashed upon the town, there was no question that their fate was well-deserved, but Walburga took no pleasure in their torture. Gilbert and Gretchen burned, but Walburga’s home, livelihood, her every possession…these things were still gone.

The reality of the situation had not quite settled upon her yet. Walburga allowed herself to be distracted by her duties, which were numerous enough to keep her busy the entire day. When everyone was summoned to the edge of town, she could no longer ignore the devastation wrought. Senden demanded blood for its wounds, and every able-bodied citizen was required to bear witness. Walburga certainly couldn’t begrudge them, considering how many had lost kin and home in the onslaught. Walburga would have thought that Victor would have taken particular glee in condemning the Falkenraths, but he seemed just as weary and disgusted as she had been.

The town was empty as Victor led her though, past the remains of the erstwhile burgher’s manor, past the chapterhouse, to the market… Walburga felt the weight of the fug of smoke permeating the air. She refused to incline her head to the right, for if she did not, she could pretend that her bakery still stood. Perhaps Victor sensed her distress, or simply assumed it. He squeezed her hand gently and quickened his pace, and Walburga was grateful for the gesture.

Walburga furtively sneaked a glance at her companion. Victor strode purposefully, chin raised and determined, as if the Chaos gods themselves would part to make way for him. Walburga wondered what it was like to have that kind of confidence and self-assurance, and why on earth he would bother with her at all. Walburga looked up again and he caught her peeking. She averted her eyes quickly.

Walburga wanted to scrutinize him, study every angle and furrow of his striking face, but somehow feared that regarding him for too long would frighten him away. She supposed that after this morning it shouldn’t have been so much of an imposition, but she still felt rather bashful in Victor’s presence. Her world was in total flux, and she was not comfortable placing this man as her anchor, but she could not help but do so. Walburga did not like being in this position. She had always prided herself upon being the one others relied on, the quick patch up, the ready shoulder to cry upon, and, from time to time, the shelter from the cold. She refused to turn to Oswald in her time of need, as the de-facto burgher for the moment, he was swamped with keeping the town held together. Beyond that, he had his own family to see to. Walburga knew that he would look after his mother cheerfully and without question, but she would not be yet another burden upon him. Likewise, she would not turn to any of the others in town, as they had troubles of their own. For the second time, however, Victor showed up just as her strength was about to fail, and she followed him without question. There was something about his demeanor which compelled obedience, and Walburga didn’t have it in her at the moment to protest. If ( _when_ ) he departed, she would manage with difficulty, but for now, it was easy to follow when he took the lead.

They reached the inn, and Victor asked if she wished to dine with the rest of the townspeople taking advantage of Klaus’ generosity. Normally Walburga would have been happy to chat with them, but after a long day of treating patient after patient, comforting the grieving, and watching the doom of her lifelong tormentors; she didn’t have it in her. She felt like a razor-thin dam holding back an ocean.

“No,” Walburga replied quietly.

Victor nodded. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

“Yes.”

Walburga thought she saw relief briefly wash over his features. They entered, and Victor approached Klaus, requesting that food and drink be sent to her chamber. _Her_ chamber. Walburga hadn’t realized that Victor had reserved the room for her. _Of course, he stays at the chapter house, doesn’t he?_ She knew she should feel guilty for this privilege, that she would be afforded privacy and comfort while half the town languished in the Town Hall, but, again, she was too exhausted to care.

Wulf Andresen spotted Walburga as she entered and rose from his seat, most likely to ask about the graze upon his ankle. Victor shot him a glare, and the man sat right back down again. Walburga stifled a giggle. She wanted to thank Victor, but was unsure how, considering the whole exchange was a matter of seconds. So instead she followed him back to the chamber, where she found her crusty, disgusting overdress gone and three tidy linen underdresses and three sturdy woolen overdresses awaiting her.

“How…” Walburga examined them in wonder. “How…”

“The tailor escaped damage,” Victor explained. “I attempted to purchase these, but he refused any recompense once he found out who would benefit from them. If they do not fit properly, we will purchase others when materials are available.”

Walburga could not speak for the lump rising in her throat. The dresses were lovely things, plain but charming and utilitarian. She’d been meaning to save up for a new overdress for some time, but just hadn’t gotten around to it. There had always been a more important expense. But here they were, not one but three, clean, free from tears and stains, ready for wear. She bit her lip to keep the tears at bay.

A knock at the door called her back, and she opened it to receive a tray of stew, bread and cheese for two from Klaus, just like the previous evening, though Victor produced a bottle of Touch of Morr wine from the desk. Walburga thanked him and set the tray down upon the table. They sat in an awkward quiet, nothing but the sound of their chewing disturbing the silence, Victor pouring the wine into two earthenware cups. Walburga was unused to such fine spirits, usually treating herself to a mug of ale at the end of the day were there any left over from her meat pies. The tang of the wine was sharp and sour, but not unpleasant. She wondered if Victor often indulged in such luxury. Looking at his dagged velvet sleeves, his carved pipe, the gold signet ring gleaming upon his bony finger, Walburga decided that he must have. He was clearly accustomed to better things, a life wildly and richly lived. She suddenly felt very shabby in his presence, still wearing her underdress (now stained after the day’s obligations), her thick and tangled waves tied haphazardly back and out of her face, even the way she scarfed down her meal. Tears inexplicably stinging her eyes, Walburga looked away, forcing herself to slow and sipping a bit more of the wine. The circumstances were making her oversensitive, she decided.

“How fares the townspeople?” Victor asked suddenly, and Walburga nearly jumped.

“Hanging in, mostly,” Walburga managed. “Don’t know if you remember Mr. Fleischer, but he passed this afternoon. Amazed he lasted the night with those injuries, but still…” She trailed off, not knowing where she was going. “But…uh, most seem to be improving rapidly, thank Shallya. Had Karin send a message through the scribe to Carroburg to the Temple requesting aid, so hopefully we’ll get some reinforcements.”

Victor nodded, pouring himself a bit more of the vintage. “Wise decision. The sooner the town’s residents are functional, the better.”

Walburga watched Victor as he slurped his soup. Difficult to believe that just that morning they had been writhing naked together in the morning sunlight. Why was this so stilted?  One would think they’d be a bit more comfortable. Suddenly, the realization hit Walburga with the force of a gale.

 _Because he would be leaving soon_.

Probably already had his mind on the next mission, already miles away from here. Just passing through. It suddenly became hard to breathe. With everything going on, this should have been the least of Walburga’s woes, but…

“I…” Walburga downed her cup in one gulp, trying to control the tremor in her voice. “I suppose you and your friends will be moving on soon.”

“I cannot speak for my companions,” Victor replied. “But it seems I am here to stay. I will be remaining to take over Captain Weber’s position in the Senden chapter house.”

“Truly?” The hand that held the cup shook.

“Indeed,” Victor continued. “Johann had asked me a little while back if I would succeed him. I made the decision during the battle. If I survived, I would ensure that this town would never be left so vulnerable ever again.”

It was the crack that set the dam, which had valiantly held the entire day, finally to collapse. Walburga burst into great heaving sobs; mortified, but unable to stop. Victor looked rather alarmed and frankly hurt by this reaction, disappointment flickering over his features briefly before he cleared his throat and composed himself.

“I did not realize that the prospect of my remaining would upset you so much,” Victor sniffed, pushing back from his chair and rising when Walburga leapt up to block his exit.

She violently shook her head, still unable to speak. She tugged at Victor’s arm to keep him from leaving, and he stared at her, dumbfounded, as she tried to summon words but could only produce gulps and croaks. She found herself beginning to laugh as well at the absurdity of it all, adding a snort to the bizarre repertoire of noises she was producing. Walburga grabbed a napkin and wiped her face vigorously until she was able a regain a bit of composure.

“I-I’m… I’m so sorry. Not upset, not at all…just relieved.” She finally managed, chuckling wetly between gasps. “I think…I am so accustomed to bad news that I wasn’t prepared for good news.”

“So, you believe this is good news?” Victor raised his eyebrow, faintly amused.

“I had assumed that you would be shaking the dust from this backwater town the moment you got the chance.” Walburga began to regain control of her breath. “You always seemed destined for greater things than Senden.”

“That was not an answer to my question.”

Walburga stared at her hands, which were fiddling with the thin fabric of her cambric gown. She began to worry a little fray in the fabric, ripping the threads, splitting a minor tear into a sizeable hole. She heaved a sigh.

“It is a wondrous thing,” Walburga murmured, still scrutinizing the now mauled dress. “I…I could not believe it was a possibility. We need someone to keep the town safe…”

Walburga trailed off, continuing to fidget. She heard Victor set down his hat but did not look up until he raised her chin with his finger. He looked very different without the authority of his headgear. His face was relaxed, and there was a softness to his expression she had never seen before.

“And what about you?” he asked, his eye searching, but for once not piercing. “Do _you_ need me here?”

 _He needs to hear it_. Walburga felt her lips curve into a smile. Here was a man who has stared down daemons, commanded troops, rescued the town…and he craved her approval. She caressed his cheek and the look in his eye went slightly liquid.

“It seems I do.”

Walburga had been isolated for a good portion of her life ever since she’d had Oswald. Not many fellows in Senden were keen to take a girl with a young child to wife, her only options the elderly and the desperate. She’d had one promising sweetheart, Hans Hanson, the butcher; who promised her the sun and the moon for one night together. Her parents made her demand a vase, and Hans had promised it to her when he had traveled to Altdorf for supplies. He returned with a red, sheepish face and a young, frisky wife. Walburga didn’t blame him and, honestly, had been rather relieved in the end. Hans always stank of onions and never washed his hands. She could never abide by that. It wasn’t until she was thirty-four, after her parents had passed (Morr rest their souls), that she finally found the liberty to indulge in a bit of amusement. Her first (and habitual) lover was a shifty but charming spice merchant who claimed Tilean origin. A fraud, truly, but the touch-starved Walburga hadn’t cared. His hair glistened with lampblack and his accent infrequent but, by Shallya, his hands had been clever and his mouth deft. He never tarried long, and Walburga was grateful for it. A little of “Arturo” went a long way. A handful of others followed over the years, usually the odd merchant or traveling performer, people whom she knew would not stay and, better, would not tell. She’d had enough scandal for one lifetime.

Thus, Walburga was not terribly experienced in the matters of love, but she had been surprised to find that Victor was even less so. She had assumed that someone as worldly as him would have had plenty of opportunity, and that the sweet clumsiness of their first time together was borne of exhaustion and urgency. However…Victor was all passion and desperation, but no skill. He mashed his lips against hers, scrabbling at her shoulders, her back, shaking and whimpering. Walburga found that she was enthralled by it. There was something pure about his unskilled and open longing, and she returned his ungainly embrace with equal fervor. She’d seen how deft and graceful he could be. It was just a matter of practice.

“Wait.” Walburga pulled back slightly, her hands upon his shoulders.

She watched the rise and fall of his breast, the flare of his nostrils, the desperation in his face. It was what had enthralled and shocked her earlier that morning, when she lay before him, the way he looked upon her as if she were something precious. She cupped his thin cheeks in her hands.

“Stay still,” she ordered gently, and pressed her lips to his.

Walburga kissed him softly and he obeyed, staying still. She savored his quiet gasps, the tremble in his stubbly jaw. She parted her lips just a little, and Victor, overeager, opened his mouth wide. Walburga drew back once more, placing her thumb upon his chin and gently shutting his mouth.

“Patience, love,” she chastised, smiling.

Victor took a deep breath, a flush rising to his cheeks.

“I am masterful in many arenas,” Victor grumbled, casting his eye to the ground. “I suppose I must admit that I had never seen fit to excel in this one.”

“No shame in that, love,” Walburga replied, lifting his chin. “I’ve no doubt you’re a quick study…”

Victor looked so crestfallen that Walburga decided to give him a little incentive. She slowly lifted her gown over her head, hoping that his inclination would not have turned to regret over the course of the day.

“Does this help?”

A strange grunt rumbled in the back of Victor’s throat. “Most definitely.”

Walburga drew close, again taking his face in her hands and kissing him softly. He responded in kind, this time, controlling his reaction this time and tentatively exploring her mouth with his tongue. The rest of his body was stiff and clenched, as if he were staving off whatever reflex would take over. Walburga pressed herself against him but quickly withdrew, his many belts and bits of armor digging into her flesh.

Victor smiled, unhooking his shoulder guard. “Shall I even the playing field?”

Walburga nodded, grinning. “It’s only fair.”

He shed his many, many layers of leather and steel until he was down to his linens. “All right then.”

“That’s not an even playing field,” Walburga smirked.

“It is for me,” Victor countered, toying with a lock of her hair. “I lack a sumptuous mane with which to obscure myself.”

“If you insist,” Walburga replied, drawing him toward the bed. “You may find those a bit confining, though…”

“Ah…” Victor seemed pleasantly surprised by how things were progressing, and it seemed to give him the wherewithal to doff his remaining apparel. “I defer to your superior judgment.”


	2. Chapter 2

Months passed, and the bakery was finished at last. Their time in the quiet, back chamber in the inn came to a close. It was bittersweet. Walburga had grown comfortable in that dim little corner of Senden. It was a refuge from the outside world, a sanctuary where she could cast off her stoic façade and Victor could shed his authority and bravado like a weighty coat. They ate and chatted and confided and made love over and over, and when they would don their veneers of confidence and calm every morning, they did so smiling and ready to face the day. The room was cozy and warm and felt like theirs and theirs alone. Having that oasis from the ravages around her kept her sane and functional. Walburga had known from the start that the arrangement was temporary, and her new bakery was everything she had ever dreamed of since she was young, but she had become attached to the room nonetheless.

It was with great relief, then, that Victor had wished to continue their arrangement after moving into her new home.

“I fit,” he observed with surprise that first evening, regarding his feet at the bottom of the bed, plenty of room to spare for his lanky form.

“Indeed you do, very well.” Walburga grinned, and he chuckled in response.

“You had this made for me, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Perhaps I pitied your poor ankles, resting on the frame of the other bed,” Walburga replied. “Perhaps I like the extra space.”

“Either way, it is appreciated.” Victor rolled over to pin Walburga underneath him. “Allow me to demonstrate my gratitude.”

During their time together, Victor’s skills had improved vastly from their first sweet but fumbling encounter, as he had proved to be every bit the quick study she expected he would be. His hands were ten times as deft as Arturo’s had ever been, and his kisses passionate. If Victor tended to lose control in the throes, Walburga certainly didn’t mind, on the contrary. She’d never felt so desired and certainly never expected it in this late stage, when she had considered that aspect of her life passed. She was happy, happy in a way Walburga never thought she could be. There was no cloud hanging over, no need to work around evil bureaucrats, no need to put on a brave face for customers, no need for any façade at all. Not “happy, but” or “happy, for,” simply happy.

Until…

Victor arrived one evening not long after Walburga had moved into the new bakery distracted and rather nervy.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting him down in front of a steaming plate of shepherd’s pie.

“Nothing wrong, really.” Victor took a deep breath. “Quite the opposite. I have been summoned to Altdorf to deliver my report. I am pleased to show them in person how Senden has improved since the attack, and hopefully gain a bit more funding for our chapter house.”

“Oh.” Walburga pecked at her food. “Well, that is exciting.”

“It is indeed,” Victor replied, and the pair ate in silence for the duration.

Walburga knew that she would not see Victor for weeks, but she turned from him that night, his touch only increasing the despair taking hold of her. She chastised herself but could not shake it. Victor had seemed in a similar mood as well, and for the first night since they became involved they retired without their nightly exertions, laying with ample space between the other. Walburga barely slept at all, watching the streetlamp flicker from her window and feeling as if she’d been hollowed out.

She awoke him the next morning with a piping hot buttered slice of olive and rosemary loaf, fermented herring, and pickled radishes as an apology for the awkwardness of the previous night. Victor squeezed her hand as he ate with vigor, then washed down the meal with a sharp, steaming cup of tea. They could hear a steady tap of soft rain on the cobblestones outside. Victor dressed quickly and made his way to the front door, glaring balefully at the gloomy weather outside.

“How…how long will you be gone?” Every word Walburga managed seemed to cost her.

“About three weeks,” Victor replied, buttoning his coat and fastening his shoulder guard. “It is the transit that drains the most time.”

“I wish you safe travels,” Walburga said, handing him his hat as he stood in the threshold. “Sienna’s accompanying you, is she not?”

Victor made an annoyed sort of noise. “She is. Has a mission from Lohner, apparently. The journey will feel thrice as long, undoubtedly.”

“I’m glad you will have backup,” Walburga replied, finally able to crack a smile.

“I suppose it’s for the best. Walburga…” Victor paused, stroking her cheek, seemingly searching for words.

They stared at each other for a moment, and Victor kissed her then, sudden and messy, the kind of kiss he would have given her in their first days together. He drew back, donned his hat, and charged off down the road without another word. Walburga watched his receding form as he walked, leaving nary a backward glance behind him.

Walburga snapped out of her stupor when the clock tolled six bells. Moping was not going to provide sweet rolls for the morning rush. It was time to get to work.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet this morning, Saltzpyre,” Sienna observed about an hour into their journey.

“Mentally organizing my notes,” Victor replied, staring out at the passing trees.

“Hmm…” Sienna replied, tapping the iron pendant in her hands. “From my vantage point, it looks to me that you’re pining.”

“You assume much, Witch,” Victor replied distantly. He knew that she was spoiling for an argument, but he didn’t have it in him to oblige, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of being right.

“Assume? You pride yourself on your observation skills, but I am no slouch myself.” Sienna preened. “One, you have said nothing about my attire, which would normally earn me quite the lecture. Two, I have been humming for the past forty-five minutes, and you haven’t made a peep about that. I don’t think you’ve even noticed at all. Three…”

Victor sighed, exasperated. “Are you sure you are not projecting, Fuegonasus? You make much of my supposed mooning, when you haven’t stopped fidgeting with that pendant since we set off. I know for a fact that it was a gift.” When Sienna colored, sputtering, this rare verbal victory made Victor temporarily forget his doldrums. “That tune you were humming was the song Adelbert often sings when he cleans the tables at the inn. “ _A Lady of Marienburg_ ,” if I remember correctly. His mother was famous for warbling it through the market and often collected a crowd of admirers. Thirdly, I assume you were going to mention the massive love bite on your neck, which would give you yet another excuse to ponder your paramour. I honestly do not care how it was earned.” Grinning savagely, Victor went in for the kill. “You are so desperate to distract yourself from your own lovesickness that you attempt to goad me into admitting my own.”

“I..I…”

For the first time, Victor could see how Sienna could gain so much satisfaction from annoying him. It _was_ rather enjoyable. Finally, Sienna folded her arms in a huff.

“Shows what you know,” she finally managed. “And you’re losing your edge. The hickey would have gotten me at least an hour’s rant. I’d had a much smaller one back in Carroburg and you wouldn’t stop going on about purity and self-respect.”

“I am in no mood to criticize the work of family,” Victor replied dryly. “We’ve always been an excitable breed, I suppose.”

Sienna’s mouth dropped open. “Was that…was that a _joke_? Who _are_ you?”

Victor wearily sighed again, watching the scenery once more. He knew he didn’t want to discuss the matter weighing heavily upon him, and he certainly didn’t want to discuss it with _Fuegonasus_ , but she was the only option and the notion had grown so much that it filled him completely and could no longer be contained.

“I…” Victor admitted finally. “I am considering…I believe I am going to buy a vase.”

He half-expected her to make a joke and demur, stating that she wasn’t interested, but instead she continued to goggle at him.

“About damn time!” She laughed finally. “There’s a good pottery district near the College. I’ll steer you in the right direction.”

“I am capable of finding a proper offering on my own!” Victor replied huffily.

“No, you’re not,” Sienna countered. “Leave it up to you and poor ‘Burga ends up with something covered in skulls and hammers.”

“Nothing wrong with a good, honest skull!” Victor replied. “It’s…”

“Oh Volans, stop proving me right!” Sienna insisted. “No, you’re coming with me, and no arguments. I won’t have you bungle this up.”

 

***

 

“You’re looking rather spry this morning, Klaus!” Walburga smiled, handing over her sack of pastries for the Inn’s breakfast.

“That’s what a decent night’s sleep will do,” Klaus replied amiably. “Boring, but definitely has its benefits.”

“Ah, that explains it,” Walburga replied, passing him a meat pie. _Lad never ate enough_. “So you seem to be coping fairly well.”

Klaus shrugged, gratefully taking the pie. “Don’t have much of a choice, I s’pose. It’s strange. When she’s here, it’s like Sonnstill every day, with everything that goes along with it, bright and loud and fun and debauched and completely bloody exhausting. And the next day, you get to rest in a bit and you’re relieved.” Klaus paused and sighed. “For a moment. And then everything’s normal and dull again and you wish it were back. Does that make sense? I’m talking rubbish, aren’t I?”

He didn’t even need to mention her name.

“I understand completely,” Walburga assured him warmly. “Sounds like…”

“Mornin’, lads!” Susanna the miller’s wife plunked her basket down between them. “What’s the good word?”

“Looks like it’s going to be a chilly one,” Walburga replied, handing over a loaf of brown bread.

“So both of yours are off?” Susanna observed, placing coin into Walburga’s hand. “Guess that’s it then. Off to Altdorf he goes. Pretty nice while it lasted, right?”

Walburga bit the inside of her lip. “Mmm…”

“What’s that then?” Klaus asked mildly.

“Oh, just Hans Hansen all over again, isn’t it?” Susanna replied cheerfully. “Maybe you were too young for that one, Klaus. Our men always head to Altdorf and come back with a wife. Right, ‘Burga? Wulf Andresen too. Promises to moon and stars to Lorna, goes to the capital and comes back with a teenager. Always get their heads turned.” She slapped Walburga’s shoulder. “Am I right? That’s why I had to snag my Lars early, keep ‘im here! But you had your fun, right? Bit stringy and grim for my tastes, but I guess dames of our age can’t be picky. So, when are you…”

“Oh, Susanna,” Klaus broke in. “I just remembered. That chamber your husband wanted to reserve will available on the fourteenth, and I’ll be able to get the flowers and wine after all.”

Susanna tilted her head, perplexed. “Come again?”

“The room your husband wanted to reserve. I assumed you knew? Perhaps it was supposed to be an anniversary surprise.” Klaus shook his head, chuckling. “Damn. Should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“But our anniversary’s in…” Susanna’s face began to turn an interesting shade of purple.

“Right!” Susanna gathered her goods and backed away. “I’ll be seeing you later!”

“Was that necessary?” Walburga asked, smirking.

“Extremely,” Klaus nodded. “Miss ‘Burga, you know she’s just full of rubbish, right? The Captain adores you. Sienna says he’s never been so easy to deal with and gets this dreamy look in his eye when someone mentions you. I’ve seen it too!” Klaus shuddered. “Rather unnerving, truth be told.”

“Thanks, Klaus,” Walburga replied. “And you say that you think you’ve seen the last of Sienna, but I’m fairly certain she’ll be back sooner rather than later.”

“I won’t hold my breath.” Klaus shrugged again, shouldering the sack of pastries. “She’s not one to stick in one place, and you know me, Miss ‘Burga. Can’t pin this lone wolf down.”

“Indeed,” Walburga smiled. _You keep telling yourself that, Klaus_. “Well, tell Oswald to stop by later on the way back. I’ve made a treat for the kids.”

“Will do.” Klaus waved. “See you later.”

Walburga waited until he was out of sight and rushed back into the kitchen, grabbing her rolling pin and smacking it against the table. It was a foolish thing to do. She could have broken what was a perfectly good kitchen implement and dented her new table, but she’d needed to exercise her frustrations on something.

She hadn’t needed it said. When it was said, that made it real. Walburga knew, of course she did. She’d been so stupid, letting her guard down the way she had. She should have known that it was too good to be true, an important man like him showing interest in a washed-up old trout like her. She should have considered their time together just a bit of fun, the way Klaus did with Sienna. Victor had come to her with fumbling hands and sloppy kisses, and left with a light and deft touch that would make Arturo seem a heavy-handed amateur. She’d been excellent practice.

 _When would he return? And with whom?_ Walburga was accustomed to pasting on a smile and masking pain, but she feared that seeing Victor parade around some lovely young thing could be too much for her. _Stop it_ , Walburga ordered herself. She knew she was being petulant and selfish. She reminded herself of everything Victor had done for her. The room at the Inn, her stipend for her bakery, her new wardrobe, and so many little things…he had been exceedingly generous and kind. Victor owed her nothing. Even so, Walburga stood in her kitchen, fists clenched, willing herself to keep her composure.

“Miss ‘Burga!” Karin called as she ambled in, her arms full of apples. “Tarts for today?”

Walburga straightened up and wiped her eyes quickly, grateful for the distraction. “Yes indeed, Karin! Let’s get the cinnamon and nutmeg. The market is going to smell glorious.”


	4. Chapter 4

The shadows of the Great Temple grew long as Victor exited, greatly relieved to be finished. It had taken all of his self-control to keep from ranting about how it had been the Skaven influence which had nearly destroyed Senden, but he kept the account of the attack brief and emphasized the bravery of the Senden Order, and how they could serve as a model for other chapter houses throughout the Empire. The report was well-received, more or less, and Victor was able to leave feeling as if he’d nudged them that much closer to being the well-oiled Skaven-annihilating force the Empire so desperately needed. He strode from the Temple feeling considerably lighter than when he had entered it, with only one more task before he could journey home.

A familiar silhouette leaned against the wall of a Heldenhammer Platz armory. Upon seeing him, Sienna leapt up and scampered over, reminding Victor more of a candy-addled child than a Maven of the Flame.

“It’s done,” she said, fairly bouncing on her heels. “I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it before you have! It’s gorgeous, she’s going to love it!”

Victor smiled faintly. “For someone who finds marriage repugnant, you’re showing an incredible amount of enthusiasm.”

“I find marriage repugnant for _me_ ,” Sienna explained, hustling Victor along. “I otherwise find the spectacle and the rituals leading up to it fascinating, and I have a certain appreciation for high-end stoneware. Also, the concept of your wedding is so bizarre that I cannot look away. Come on! You need to see it!”

Amused, Victor followed as Sienna charged forward.

“There are some excellent tailors, and I took the liberty of examining some of the gowns on display. I have a few suggestions and have made a list for Walburga to peruse. She’d look nice with lots of flowers, I think…”

“Aren’t you supposedly on mission?” Victor asked wryly.

“Pish.” Sienna waved the question away. “Minor carta issues. I can handle that in a matter of hours. This? _This_ is important.”

They reached a small neighborhood in the shadow of the furnace that was the Bright College. Apprentice pyromancers parted to make way for the Maven, and Victor could feel her beaming even from a few feet ahead of him. A weathered-looking redhead noticed their approach and rose from her wheel to meet them.

“One moment,” the potter said, nodding respectfully to the pair (more so to Sienna rather than Victor).

The potter quickly washed her hands and retrieved the vase. Upon seeing it, the reality of the situation settled upon Victor, the exhilaration, the terror, the joy of it all. The vase was a masterwork, a subtle gradation from deep indigo to a pale lavender, echoing an evening sky. Subtle arcs of gold and silver rimmed the mouth and spangled throughout, and, at the center of the piece, a silver dove entwined with a golden comet.

“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” Sienna enthused, all but clapping her hands in glee.

Victor nodded, refusing to allow himself to become overwhelmed. “I believe it will do.”

He handed over a sizeable sack of coin and stowed the vase in a large leather sack, saddened to obscure the piece and fully planning to admire it as soon as he was seated in the carriage.

“Well.” Victor straightened up. “If I want to catch the afternoon coach to Carroburg, I’d best be off.”

“Can’t wait another second, can you?” Sienna grinned.

Victor rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Truth be told, I just want the whole matter settled.”

“I can understand that,” Sienna replied warmly. “Long road ahead. I may be passing through Senden en route to Marienburg before long. Lohner hints there may be a job there.”

Several disturbing things occurred to Victor at once. The first was that he realized that he would miss Sienna’s company, and that he enjoyed it to begin with. Even when she was obnoxious and scandalous. Sometimes especially because of it. The second was that, not only did he consider the bright wizard a friend, that she was probably his closest friend. The third was that Sienna’s happiness was extremely important to him, and that he had never seen her as contented as when she was with Adelbert. All of these revelations threatened to make Victor very grumpy, and he refused to ponder them further.

“Well, I know that Walburga and the innkeeper would be grateful,” Victor replied evenly. “Be sure to do so. Farewell, Fuegonasus. Try not to end up in prison.”

“I’ll do my best,” Sienna laughed. “And Victor, don’t worry. Walburga would be mad to turn you down. Granted, she’s mad for being interested in the first place, but still. Good luck and swift journey.”

 

***

 

“So,” Klaus began, leaning on Walburga’s stall. “How long has it been?”

 _Two weeks, five days, and six hours, but who’s counting?_ Walburga rolled her eyes. “About three weeks, I s’pose.”

“Well,” Klaus continued with a roguish grin. “I happened to notice a certain trap from Carroburg was arriving just as I started my walk here.”

Walburga handed Klaus his usual lunchtime repast of a pork and potato pasty. “Did you now?”

“I did.” Klaus nodded. “Might have a certain Captain on board not so patiently waiting for his luggage.”

Walburga’s stomach squirmed, and she forced herself to keep her breath steady. “I shouldn’t leave the bakery during the lunch rush…”

“Bloody hell, Miss ‘Burga! Karin can manage for a few minutes!” Klaus tugged at her sleeve. “Come on, he’ll be thrilled you came to see him.”

Walburga dithered for a moment, then untied her apron. “Oh, very well. Lead the way.”

They made their way through the town as it bustled in the wintry noonday sun. Klaus strode cheerfully before her, and as they approached the bottom of the hill Walburga could see the carriage waiting not far from the inn. Walburga’s heart leapt into her throat. Victor was lecturing the driver, who was struggling with his trunk. She quickened her steps, opening her mouth to call out a greeting, when the carriage door opened. A pretty young woman peeked out, then began to descend. The girl stumbled, and Victor sprang away from his argument to catch her, steadying her arm and guiding her to her feet. Walburga halted immediately, suddenly feeling the chill in the air.

“Wait, that’s probably not what it looks like,” Klaus assured her. “C’mon, Miss ‘Burga…”

Walburga turned without another word and scampered back to the bakery as fast as her feet would carry her, ignoring Klaus’ protests. She could see a line forming at the bakery, and a very harried Karin hustling to accommodate everyone. _Good_. Busy meant she didn’t have to think. As long as she was busy, she wouldn’t fall apart.


	5. Chapter 5

The journey had stretched for ages. The coach had been full for the trip to Carroburg, which irked Victor. He’d wanted to examine his vase a bit and had to content himself with reaching into the leather sack from time to time and running his fingers over its smooth surface, following the subtle ridges and eddies. It wasn’t so much that he feared his traveling companions would covet the expensive item (they looked as if they would piss themselves if he so much as said a word to them), more that he preferred to look upon it alone and ponder its significance.

He had barely been able to sleep. Nerves had never been an issue in previous excursions. He tossed and turned, wondering how Walburga was faring, if she had any inkling of what awaited her when he returned. What if the time apart convinced her that she preferred him gone? That she slept better without his snoring? He’d become accustomed to her warmth beside him. Victor chastised himself. He truly was growing soft.

As soon as the sky lightened Victor was off, having messily devoured a hard roll and downed a flagon of water. After the squashed two-day trip to Carroburg, Victor was looking well forward to having a mail coach to himself. He found the carriage waiting on the outskirts of the city, a pitiful-looking affair with ill-padded seats and sacks of mail piled atop the roof. Not the most luxurious of accommodations but guaranteed to deliver Victor to Senden before the day’s end. A scruffy-looking young man groomed the horses and readied them for the trip.

“Is there any chance we can depart straightaway?” Victor asked, leveling the driver with a withering glare.

The look had then intended effect. “Y-yes, Sir!”

While the driver bustled about, loading Victor’s trunk, Victor settled himself inside with the leather pack on his lap, tipping his hat over his eyes, finally drowsy. The coach sprang to life, and Victor smiled. _Finally_.

“Wait, wait!”

The coach halted, to Victor’s extreme annoyance. There were scuffling noises outside, and a harried-looking young woman burst into the coach. She started when she saw Victor, then burst into a fit of nervous giggles.

“And here I was worried traveling on my own,” the girl rambled. “Don’ think no one’ll mess with us with you in the coach!”

“Quite,” Victor replied snidely, tipping the hat over his eyes once more.

Her name was Anneke. Victor found this out, and basically every other detail of her life, and the driver’s as well; as she and the lad (Fritz, as it turned out) gabbed incessantly through the window in the coach. The chatter prevented Victor from napping, but he found that it at least sped the journey along. By the time they reached Senden, Fritz and Anneke were practically engaged. It was lucky for Fritz that Anneke was headed to Bruena, and would be accompanying him for the duration. As the carriage rolled to a stop, Victor took a deep breath and burst out of it the moment the wheels creaked to a halt.

“Come now!” Victor exhorted the driver, clutching the vase to his chest. “I have great need of haste!”

“Right, Sir!” Fritz dragged himself away from his conversation and began to unhook the mail bags.

“My trunk, my trunk!” Victor scolded as Fritz fumbled. “Come now, boy!”

“Where’s the…” Anneke opened the carriage and attempted to exit, but her the heel of her shoe caught upon her skirt and she tripped. The girl would have been face-first in a mud puddle were it not for Victor’s reflexes. He caught her just in time, and she thanked him as she found her feet.

“Anneke!” Fritz leapt forward, mailbags forgotten and tumbling into the dirt as he rushed to the girl. “Are you all right?”

 _Oh, trunk be damned_. As Fritz attended to Anneke, Victor charged toward the bakery. It would be the lunch rush, but Victor couldn’t wait another second. _Two weeks, six days, and five hours_. It had been agony. He passed Adelbert en route and nodded. The innkeeper tried to tell him something, but Victor was in too much of a hurry to listen.

Victor was intoxicated by the aroma of baking bread. He followed it to the lines of townsfolk queued up and saw Walburga and Karin barely keeping up with demand. He strode to her, the crowds of customers parting before him, and Walburga looked up in surprise. The color drained from her face, and her jaw clenched, as if she were steeling herself. Not exactly the reaction he’d been anticipating.

“Walburga.” Victor clutched the sack to him for strength as he approached. “I need to speak with you.”

“Not the best time,” she replied brusquely. “Can this not wait?”

Victor inhaled deeply, straightening up.

“No,” he insisted, glaring at the customers until they scattered. “It truly cannot. It has been three weeks. I need to speak with you.”

Walburga seemed to crumple. She nodded in a defeated sort of way.

“Very well,” she murmured, trudging into the kitchen.

Victor followed her warily, dumbfounded and stung. She’d been distant the night before he’d left, but up until that point they had seemed content. He’d had the impression things were serious. What had happened while he had gone? Had she rethought her situation? She’d had an extra-long bed constructed. Did she just have a predilection for unusually tall men? Victor’s hands started to shake, but he was in too far now. He had to know her answer, for good or for ill.

“You do not seem pleased to see me.” Victor began flatly.

“I am glad that you have returned safe and whole,” Walburga replied in a wobbling voice, staring determinedly out the window.

“And I am glad to see you, even if you don’t seem to share the sentiment.”

“Well,” Walburga replied. “What did you need to discuss?”

“Right.” Victor took a deep breath, clutching the leather sack under his arm. “I have been thinking about the future.”

Walburga nodded absently.

“The future,” she repeated in a distant sort of voice.

“And I do not think things should continue as they are. I have made a decision.”

Walburga turned her eyes to him finally, and Victor realized that she seemed utterly devastated. She twisted her fingers in her apron so tightly that he winced.

She swallowed heavily. “I just want to know. When did you make that decision? Was it in Altdorf, or before?”

“Before,” Victor replied, perplexed.

This was not going at all the way he had hoped. Walburga’s eyes widened, her hands bunched painfully in the fabric.

“Right.” Her voice cracked. “How long before?”

“Quite some time,” Victor admitted. “At Kruber’s wedding, truth be told. I…”

“That far back?” Her voice had taken a hysterical edge. “All this time, you were making plans…”

“Walburga,” Victor interrupted roughly. “I don’t understand. I would have expected you to be happy about this!”

“Happy?!?” Walburga shrieked. “Happy to see you abandon me? Toss me aside? Happy to see you parade around your fresh-faced young wife, give your children free sweets? Put on a brave face for the town yet again, I’m supposed to be happy about…”

“Walburga, what the hell are you talking about?” Victor demanded, flabbergasted. “What young wife? What children?”

“That’s what happens. It’s what always happens. They go away, and return with something better,” Walburga’s voice trembled. She regarded him again, those river-green eyes nearly overflowing. “I saw that girl you were escorting. I’m sure she’ll make you very happy.”

Victor let out a barking laugh. “You mean Anneke the apprentice glass-blower? She’s off to Bruena, and will most likely be hitched to Fritz by the end of the journey.”

“Wait, what?” Walburga tilted her fluffy head rather adorably. “Who’s Fritz?”

“The mail coach driver,” Victor explained quickly, placing the leather sack upon a flour-covered table and crossing the room to her. “Walburga, are you out of your bloody mind? Is _this_ why you are acting so strangely?”

“I suppose I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Walburga replied, her shoulders finally relaxing. “I was happy with you. Too happy. Something had to happen, and when you went to Altdorf…” She sniffed and looked away, shrugging. “It’s a thing that happens here.”

Victor took her chin in his hand. “Sigmar’s teeth, ‘Burga, do you think me so inconstant?”

“I suppose I think you an important man who need not settle for a dowdy baker whose best years are long past.” Walburga gazed at him, dazed. “I was convinced you’d come to end things.”

“You are insane.” Victor stroked her cheek. “I wanted today to be the beginning of something. Of everything. If you would have me.”

Walburga stared up into his face, a smile wavering upon her lips, as if she were afraid to believe it. “Are you sure, Victor?”

“I do not make decisions lightly,” he replied. “You should know that by now.”

“ _Me?_ Honestly? Victor, you know I cannot give you children.”

“Why the hell would I want children?” Victor asked incredulously. “Every day I must begin my day in a chapter house filled to the brim with soft, mewling apprentices. I’ve no desire to end my day that way as well.”

Walburga finally fell into his arms, and Victor reveled in her warmth, her pillowy softness, the sweetness of her scent. He clutched her tightly to him, his long fingers winding in her tawny waves.

He reluctantly released her, gesturing to the leather sack. “You should see what’s in there.”

Walburga opened the bag, and slowly withdrew the vase. She said nothing for a very long time, raising the vessel to the light, admiring it from all angles, reverentially gliding her fingertips over the comet and dove etched into it.

“You really did have this made for me…” Walburga murmured.

“No,” Victor replied snidely. “I was going to hand it to the first lady I stumbled across in town. By the way, you haven’t given me an answer. If it’s a no, just hand it back and I’ll toss it to whomever’s lurking outside. Is that fishwife Langemeier out there? I wonder if she’d be interested.”

“Stop!” Walburga guffawed, setting down the vase and rushing over to him. “Yes, of course! By Shallya’s feathery bum, I am so sorry, Victor. I would not be surprised if you wanted to take it back, given my atrocious behavior.”

“You’re quite mad, it’s true.” Victor grinned, squeezing her to him. “But I will have no other. I…”

He was interrupted by an urgent rap at the door. “Miss Burga! Miss Burga!”

Victor released Walburga to answer. “Klaus, what is it?”

“I just wanted to catch you before…” Klaus noticed Victor lingering behind, and the large, expensive vase upon the table. “Oh, thank bloody Taal! So it’s finally happening?”

Walburga beamed. “Despite my ridiculousness, yes. I guess we have a wedding to plan.”

Klaus slumped in relief. “You gave me a worry, Miss Burga. Bloody hell.”

“Oh, since you’re here, Adelbert.” Victor reached into his coat and produced a letter. “I have been tasked as a messenger boy, it seems.”

Klaus’ face lit up as he took the missive. “I…um…I’d, uh better get to the scribe…”

Klaus scampered away, calling his thanks as he departed. Walburga leaned against Victor, eyes closed, looking to him much like a contented cat.

“There’s the next wedding,” Victor said confidently. “By Sigmar, I will be sure of it.”

“Let’s just get ourselves hitched first,” Walburga replied with a smile. “I assume you haven’t eaten yet? Come. Sit. Tell me of your journey.”

Victor peered outside. “Your customers seem to be returning.”

Walburga kissed his forehead, and Victor felt light as air. “They can wait a moment. Let’s catch up.”


End file.
